I sing to myself, wild and unbound, a pirate dancing on the shores of consciousness,

(How the soul must chuckle at my earnest scrubbing of what was always pristine!)

Each breath a revolution against the gravity of doubt, a cosmic jest at perfection's expense.

My heart beats the drums of creation—what fool whispered I needed fixing?

Here, in this messy, magnificent moment, where scars exist as constellations of experience,

Where imperfections rest unobsessed,

I declare myself complete.

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What a wonderful initiative and challenge, Michelle McQuaid, in this month of love! 🤎🤎 I’d love to see more!